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A season's meaning: Reflection on Iowa's state baseball tournament

Doug Jeske, Guest columnist
Published 11:21 a.m. CT July 19, 2018

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Remsen St. Mary's batter Steve Schmit is safe as the throw pulls Eldora-New Providence first baseman Shawn Bockes off the bag during the 1983 Class 3A state championship baseball game in Marshalltown.(Photo: Register file photo)Buy Photo

As high school baseball teams prepare to compete for state titles in Des Moines, I am reminded of a baseball season 35 years ago the summer after my sophomore year. My greatest baseball skill at the time was keeping the scorebook. Despite this — or perhaps because of it — I somehow made the varsity team for Eldora-New Providence (E-NP).

I went 0 for 5 at the plate that season but will admit to only one scorekeeping error — one that would have added another hit to senior Andy Granner’s .369 season average.

One of the reasons for my otherwise perfect scorekeeping record was pitcher Jeff Schafer. It’s hard to make a scoring mistake on a strikeout, and Schafer averaged more than two “Ks” each inning he pitched. Schafer’s dominance on the mound was the most critical part of the team’s effort, but still only a part.

From my vantage point on the bench, scorebook in hand, I watched and recorded 16 teenagers transform themselves, with some good coaching and a lot of three-hour practices, into a team capable of beating anyone in the state. And I watched and recorded how virtually everyone took his turn carrying the team, especially during the postseason tournament.

Ultimately, though, I watched and recorded E-NP drop the championship game on a sweltering Saturday in late July. We were leading No. 1-ranked St. Mary’s of Remsen 4-3 in the top of the seventh inning when they tied the game. St. Mary’s went on to win it in the eighth.

It’s a sports cliché that a close loss is harder to take than a blowout; it’s also true. One pitch away from a state championship, the E-NP team of 1983 finished second and recorded a disappointing final result to a season that had felt so very special.

Ten years later, in 1993, when the team reunited to play an “old-timers” game against the current E-NP varsity squad, I made sure I was there. I wanted to see all the guys, of course. But I also needed to reconcile my feelings about that experience with its outcome and see how others were doing the same.

In my first at-bat during the exhibition, I hit a double off the fence in left-center. The next batter hit a ground ball between the third baseman and the shortstop. I waited for the ball to get through the infield and took third base. Coach Jim Blythe, from the third-base coach’s box, said, “Good job, Doug. Way to get down here. But if you see the third baseman go deep to his left, you don’t have to wait to come over because nobody will be covering third.”

I nodded. Then the realization set in. I had just been given a piece of virtually useless information: what to do when I’m on second and the ball gets hit into the hole.

Of course, it was also some of the most respectful coaching I ever received. Respectful of me and of the game. Eight years after I had concluded my mediocre high school baseball career, in a meaningless exhibition, Jim Blythe was giving me instruction on one of the game’s finer points. And, in doing so, giving even greater meaning to the season’s experience.

There is a right way to play the game. And when you play it with respect, the process itself becomes a satisfying outcome. And you want it to continue.

That’s why no one objected when Schafer unilaterally extended the 1993 exhibition game an extra inning. The mosquitoes had chased most of the spectators away, but we kept playing. I never made it back to second base that game, but I’ll be ready next time I do.

Doug Jeske(Photo: Special to the Register)

Doug Jeske is president of the Meyocks advertising agency in West Des Moines. Contact him at dougjeske@meyocks.com.